I’m about to enter Tuscany when I hear a woman call my name. Turning, I expect to see one of my friends running up to me with a big smile, but instead, I find Tiffany standing there.

  Making her way toward me.

  I go completely still, hating how the fight part of fight-or-flight just kicked in. I don’t want to argue with her. But I don’t want to look like a wimp who runs away from her either. Been there, done that, finally ready to conquer my battles.

  Tiffany stops directly in front of me, dressed to kill in a clingy black dress that—damn it—looks great on her. “Looks like you finally got caught, hmm?” She smirks.

  I have no idea what she’s talking about. God, I hate her. “Leave me alone,” I say firmly, giving up on the fight as I turn to enter the restaurant.

  But she grabs my arm, stopping me. I shake myself out of her grip, ready to reach for my phone and call 9-1-1. Bitch needs to keep her hands to herself.

  Tiffany’s gaze falls to the bag I’m reaching into it, her smirk fading in an instant. “Did he buy you that? Pay you off for being his fake fiancée while you two were in Paris?”

  My body goes cold with shock. It’s like I’m frozen in place when all I want to do is leave. “What did you just say?”

  The smirk is back, even smirkier this time. Is that even a word? “You heard what I said. I asked if your new Chanel bag was payment for you pretending to be his fake fiancée while on your stupid trip.”

  I slowly shake my head, panic threatening to choke me. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear what she just said.

  Fake fiancée? That’s exactly what we were doing. How did she know?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Haven’t been on the internet much today, huh? Well, that’s too bad. I figured you’d have already seen the articles with Manon by now.” She turns to the man standing beside her—I didn’t even notice him until this very moment—and makes a huffy noise. “I don’t want to eat here. Not if she’s going inside. Let’s go somewhere else, Eddie.”

  They walk away, Tiffany never once looking back. I remain completely still, watching until they fade into the distance, and I finally reach for my phone, open up my browser and tap in the words, Alexander Wilder, Manon Descheaux.

  There are a total of four gossipy articles, all of them based out of the U.K. or Europe. Each of them is short, with only a little bit of information, but they all say the same thing.

  Manon claimed our relationship was suspect, she did a little research, discovered that Alex had been engaged to Tiffany only a few weeks ago, so therefore the engagement between Alex and I must be fake.

  “No way was that a real relationship,” Manon said. “You’re telling me he was engaged to another woman, broke up with her and became engaged to Caroline, all in the matter of a couple of weeks? I find that hard to believe.”

  Oh my God, I hate Manon Descheaux with every fiber of my being.

  I stare at the front doors of Tuscany, the sound of laughter and happy chatter spilling outside. My friends are in there, waiting for me. One of them has already ordered me something to drink and I bet they saved an appetizer for me too. They’re that thoughtful.

  That wonderful.

  I could go inside and collapse in my chair. I could cry and confess all to them, and they’ll instantly make me feel better. I know they will.

  But for once in my life, I don’t want to see my friends first and confess everything. I want to talk to Alex.

  I need to talk to Alex.

  I end up at Wilder Corporation twenty minutes later, thanks to taking an Uber. I don’t own a car. I don’t need to. Everywhere I go on a daily basis, I can walk. Stella has a car, so she drives us everywhere we need to go that’s farther out, and she always lets me borrow it whenever I want.

  But I didn’t bother asking Stella. Asking would’ve led to questions that I don’t want to answer right now.

  I had the Uber driver drop me off in the back, near the building where Alex works. The parking lot is mostly empty, and I figure everyone has left for the day, though I spot Alex’s car near the back of the lot.

  Just seeing it makes my stomach drop. He’s here.

  Time to go talk to him.

  Luckily enough the doors are unlocked and I enter the Wilder Corporation’s offices. I find Alex still in his office, sitting at his desk, in a rumpled button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, staring at his laptop. His hair is mussed, his face is weary and my heart pangs.

  I care about this man. So much. It’s almost scary, how fast that happened. Yet I’m terrified to go talk to him. I’m scared everything’s going to change.

  The problem? I know everything’s going to change.

  He lifts his head, somehow sensing that I’m watching him, and our gazes meet. He doesn’t smile like he did yesterday when we first saw each other. He doesn’t rise to his feet either, so he can come greet me with open arms and a sweet kiss that makes my toes curl.

  With leaden feet I walk toward him until I’m inside his office, sitting in the chair opposite his desk. He remains seated, his expression impossible to read.

  And I hate that. So much.

  “I saw the articles,” I tell him, deciding to be completely upfront.

  “Articles? There’s not just one?” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and despite the worry and frustration that clings to him, I still find him unbelievably handsome.

  Only an hour ago I would’ve said that he was all mine, but now I don’t think I can make that claim.

  “I saw four.”

  “I only saw one. In the Daily Post, out of London.” He props his elbow on his desk, leaning his head into his palm. “What did you say to Manon to piss her off so thoroughly?”

  I sit up straighter, surprised by his question. “I didn’t say anything to Manon when we went out together. I let her do most of the talking.”

  “Come on, Caroline.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply. “There had to be something you said that hit her wrong.”

  “I told you everything that happened that day, Alex. I didn’t leave out one detail. In fact, I was the nice one. I took care of her while she stumbled around the hotel drunk. She even thanked me for taking care of her.” I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t believe me. There’s doubt in his eyes, tension in his mouth and jaw.

  His silence also is a dead giveaway.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” More silence. “Alex. Please, you have to believe me. I’m not lying. I would never lie to you.”

  “Then what happened? Why did she go talk to the tabloids like that? What reason does she have to get back at us? At me?” Alex throws his hands up into the air. “It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.”

  “Maybe she’s just a vindictive person. She doesn’t care who she hurts. As long as she gets some sort of weird, twisted enjoyment out of it, what does it matter?” I don’t even bother telling him I ran into Tiffany. I don’t need to add another layer to this shit show.

  “She may be an unpleasant person, but I doubt she’s that evil,” he mutters with a shake of his head.

  See, that’s the problem with guys. They can’t see that there really are some evil bitches out there. Who do things just because they can, you know? I’m not in Manon’s head, I don’t know what motivates her, but I do know she’s very self-absorbed. And curious. I remember the last thing she said to me before she got into the taxi.

  You are a very mysterious woman. I long to find out more.

  Well, she certainly did that, didn’t she?

  “So what you’re saying is that somehow this is my fault, and I ruined everything with your deal.” I stare at him. Hard. But he won’t even look at me. “I thought the contracts with the Descheauxs were already signed.”

  “They were, but Alain won’t return my or my father’s calls. My father is furious at me. Closing this deal was put directly on my shoulders and I fucked it up. Now my father doesn’t trust me, and I’m sure Alain doesn’t trust me either. He thinks I’m a complete liar.” He finally looks at me, his eyes dull with anger.

  Anger aimed right at me.

  “I think what you’re implying is that I’m the one who fucked it up. I’m the liar.” I grab my purse and open it, turning it upside down so I can dump everything inside on the chair beside me. My wallet, my favorite lip-gloss, my house key, and the Marie Antoinette compact mirror I picked up at the Louvre. Closing the bag, I lean over and set it on the edge of Alex’s desk. “You can have that.”

  “Caroline—”

  I interrupt him. “You can have these too.” I take off one camellia earring, then the other, and toss them onto his desk next to the bag. “I don’t want them anymore. They’re just my payment for pretending to be your fake fiancée.”

  And with those final words, I gather up my crap, stand on shaky legs and leave his office. He calls my name but I don’t turn around.

  I don’t want him to see me cry.

  Thirty-Seven

  Alex

  I don’t sleep for shit. All I can think about is Caroline sitting in my office, dumping all of her belongings out of the Chanel bag and giving it back to me. She returned the earrings too, the pain on her face when she called it all payment for being my fake fiancée.

  That hurt. Like a sharp knife carving my heart up into little bitty pieces. Fucking Manon and her big mouth. I find it hard to believe that she did this for no other reason than to just fuck with us, but what else could it be?

  I want to believe Caroline, but it’s difficult. She could’ve said something incriminating and not even realize it. She could’ve dropped a hint or two. Shit, I don’t know.

  That’s the worst part of it. I can’t figure out why this happened. I don’t know what’s going on with Alain and the contracts we just signed. Is he going to back out of the deal? Do they think I’m a liar who can’t be trusted? They have every right to feel that way. I am a liar. Bringing Caroline with me was a lie from the get go.

  Yet being with Caroline in Paris, even for that short amount of time, proved to me that I actually wanted to be with her. No one else. Just her. I was falling for her. I did fall for her.

  And now, Manon’s ruined everything.

  Oh, and I ruined everything too. Can’t forget my part in it.

  When I glance at my phone and see it’s five in the morning, I give up and go for a run. Outside there’s a dense, low hanging fog, the ocean gray and turbulent, the atmosphere as moody as I was feeling. I run for miles, until I end up back at the front of my house, my chest heaving, sweat pouring off of me as I gasp for air.

  That run does nothing to clear my mind like it usual does. Nope, instead I feel even shittier.

  I come into the office early because I’ve got nothing else better to do. I try to review quarterly reports, but I can’t focus. I clean out my inbox and accidentally delete an email I need to answer, and for some reason it disappears completely from the server.

  “Shit.” I let the word fly, loud as hell since no one else is in here. I rarely curse at work. I like to keep my composure; I have an image to uphold, after all. But this morning I can feel my composure slipping. Hell, since yesterday it’s been slipping, and it’ll pretty much be gone by the time everyone arrives for their work day.

  In other words, we’re all screwed.

  My father won’t talk to me. Not that I’m trying to talk to him either. I’m sure he didn’t like me calling him a control freak, but sometimes reality is hard to face. And honestly? It felt good to finally be truthful with him, once and for all.

  My phone rings—not the desk phone, but my cell phone. I check who’s calling and see Alain Descheaux’s name flashing across the screen.

  I fumble for it, nearly sending my phone sliding off the desk and onto the ground, but my fingers clasp around the edges just in time. Sounding out of breath, I answer it. “Alain. I’m so glad you called me back.”

  “Sorry I didn’t return your call yesterday,” he says, hesitating for a moment before he continues. “We were in a bit of a crisis mode.”

  “Really? Everything all right?” I have no idea what he’s talking about and I’m not going to assume it has to do with Manon’s big mouth.

  But it probably has everything to do with Manon’s reveal.

  “It’s better, yes.” His exhale is ragged. “I want to apologize, Alex, for what happened with Manon.”

  I go completely still. “What do you mean, you want to apologize?”

  “She’s had some—trouble for the last year or so. We tried to get her treatment, but she constantly refuses. Or we check her in and she immediately checks herself out.” Alain lowers his voice, as if he’s revealing a secret. “Manon is an alcoholic. And she’s addicted to pills. Painkillers.”

  Well. That is a pretty big secret he’s revealing. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, trying my best to be polite.

  “Yes well, from what I understand, when she went shopping with your fiancée, she drank too much at lunch and made a fool of herself. Then she became paranoid, afraid your Caroline would reveal to the world that Manon is a drunk. So to retaliate, she made up a story about you and Caroline and how your engagement was fake to cover up her drunkenness.” Alain sounds as tired as I feel. “I’m sorry she dragged you into this unnecessary predicament, Alex. Please tell Caroline we’re sorry as well.”

  “You’re not calling to cancel the deal?” I ask incredulously.

  “Why would we do that?” Alain sounds just as incredulous. “I signed the contracts. My word—and my name—is good.”

  Relief floods me. But I realize…

  My word isn’t good. Manon may have pulled us into her unnecessary drama, but she’s not exactly a liar either. I need to be honest with Alain. As honest as he was with me.

  Leaning back in my chair, I glance up at the ceiling, praying I don’t mess this up. “Alain, I have a confession to make…”

  An hour later I’m in the lobby just outside my father’s office, trying to convince his assistant he wants to see me.

  “He’s on a very important phone call,” Marta says, her gaze not quite meeting mine.

  She’s lying. And how do I know Marta is lying? I can clearly see on her giant desk phone that the light is off by my father’s name. Meaning he’s not on the phone. He must’ve left instructions that he didn’t want to talk to me.

  Well, he’ll want to hear this. “Tell my father the Paris deal is still happening.”

  Marta frowns. “I’m not supposed to disturb him. For anyone.”

  “I’ll take the blame. Please, Marta.” I smile. She’s been his assistant for seventeen years. She’s known me since I was a kid, and I’ve always been able to put on the charm where she’s concerned. “I need your help. Tell him.”

  With an exasperated sigh, she stands and marches to my father’s closed door, knocking twice before she slips inside.

  I wait impatiently, tapping my foot. After I talk to my father, I need to figure out how to approach Caroline and beg for her forgiveness. That I doubted her for even a minute makes me feel like a complete asshole.

  She most likely thinks I’m a complete asshole, too.

  The door opens and Marta’s standing there with a frown on her face. “He’ll see you, Alex.”

  I go to her, grasping her by the shoulders and pressing a kiss to her powdered cheek. “Thank you,” I tell her before I slip inside my father’s office and shut the door.

  He’s sitting behind his imposingly large desk, his hands folded together, and I’m reminded of the times when I was a kid, about to get busted for whatever wrongdoing I was up to. “Alexander.”

  When he brings out the full name is when you know you’re in big trouble. At least in my case, that’s the way it went. He’s mad at me, and I’m still a little mad at him, but he deserves to hear the good news.

  “I spoke with Alain Descheaux.”

  He raises his brows. “And?”

  “The deal is solid. Turns out his daughter-in-law has a drinking problem and she lashed out with that story as a way to protect herself from Caroline or us exposing her.” It really makes no sense, but she’s not thinking clearly, so I don’t bother trying to figure it out.

  “So it’s still going through. The building is ours.” My father’s voice is flat, emotionless. As if he’s afraid to react positively.

  “Yes. It’s still going through. I thought you should know.” I nod once and start to turn, ready to leave when my father stops me by saying my name. I face him once more.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he says, his expression a little less stern. “I’m—sorry for what I said yesterday. I should’ve had more faith in you.”

  His apology is surprising. He’s not one to apologize for much of anything, especially when it comes to business.

  I could probably count the times he’s apologized to me during my lifetime on one hand.

  “I confessed all to Alain.” I collapse in a nearby chair, exhausted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told him that Caroline was actually my fake fiancée. I had to be honest with him, considering he was so honest with me. I couldn’t lie to him.”

  The expression on his face changes. Is that…pride that I see? “And what did he say when you told him?”

  “He said he didn’t believe me. That Caroline and I acted too much like a couple in love.” I chuckle, but there’s no amusement there. “I also said that we actually are together, though I think that might be done now.”

  “What happened? Did she find out about the articles?”

  I nod. “And she came to my office and we argued over it. I basically blamed her for everything, and she got mad, returned some of the stuff I gave her, and left.”

  My father is quiet for a moment, studying me. I’m quiet too, because what else can I say? I screwed this up. Badly. And I’m not sure I can fix it.